


Come To Me Sweetly

by keeli_marie



Series: No Tenderness Collection [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Breaking Up & Making Up, Coming Untouched, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Alternating, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Harry Potter, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Switching, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeli_marie/pseuds/keeli_marie
Summary: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are not dating. They’re just having really great sex. It’s not complicated at all. Right?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: No Tenderness Collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706401
Comments: 86
Kudos: 963
Collections: Favedrarry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how many chapters this will be yet, but I’m planning to post every Sunday and I’ll add tags as I go! Hope you guys enjoy <3

As it turns out, there are actually a lot of benefits to sleeping over at Potter’s.

Morning sex, followed by a shared shower—which led to yet more sex—and then breakfast; just to name a few. Not that Draco’s making a list, because he’s not. But if he were, the pancakes would be at the top.

The sight of Potter, standing at the stove, shirtless and wearing only pajama pants is a close second.

Draco had no idea cooking was one of the many talents Harry Potter possessed. Makes sense really, the prat is good at everything. 

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” Draco asks. Draco himself never bothered to learn, always having house elves, both at home and Hogwarts, to provide food. 

“My aunt,” Potter answers, his voice tight, and it’s clear that more questions will not be welcomed. 

Draco hums. “Well, this was good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Potter nudges his glasses up his nose, there’s a smudge across the bottom of the left lens, and Draco’s fingers itch to snatch the glasses from Potter's face and clean them. “If you’re not busy tonight, I’m making curry for dinner. You could...come over. If you want.”

And this, this right here is the problem. 

Draco’s not sure exactly how this thing between them progressed so quickly from a few shags in a broom closet to sleepovers and shared meals. It too closely resembles dating. And Draco is certainly not _dating_ Harry Potter. They are not in a relationship, they’re not even friends. They have sex—very, very good sex—but that’s all it is.

“Is this you trying to do something nice again?” Draco questions, a pointed look on his face.

Potter is silent for a moment. Then his lips are pulling up into a smirk and his eyes are flashing with amusement. “You ended up enjoying the chocolates.”

And alright, yes. He did enjoy them; in bed, naked, with Potter, who licked the melted chocolate from his fingers. Of course Draco enjoyed it. 

“Regardless,” Draco says, waving his hand, “We aren’t nice to each other, Potter. We never have been.” 

“We’re nice to each other sometimes. Anyways, come to dinner, don’t come to dinner. Doesn’t make any difference to me, Malfoy.”

Draco does not go over to have dinner with Potter.

The whole idea of it is just absurd. Yes, there might be a small part of Draco that wants more than just stupidly good sex with Potter, but he knows it could never work out between them. He would rather just enjoy what they have, for as long as it lasts. Because Draco isn’t stupid, he knows this will eventually end. 

For now, he’ll do his best to live in the moment and—

“For fucks sake!” Draco yells, startled as Potter’s owl flies in through his open kitchen window and promptly drops a small package right into his plate of pasta, splattering his dinner all over the pristine cherry wood of his table.

Draco snatches the package up before the sauce can start to soak in. He shoots a glare towards the menace of an owl, who is now perched on his countertop.

“Was that really necessary?” The owl turns its head away from him and ruffles its brown feathers rudely. 

Draco rips the paper away, and inside he finds a clear container that holds a large piece of chocolate cake. He can sense Potter’s magic on it and knows that there are probably charms preserving the cake and all of its perfect, chocolate-ly goodness.

Potter sent him dessert. No. Potter sent him his favourite dessert. Draco didn’t show up to dinner and Potter still sent him something to eat. Evil owl aside, it’s a sweet gesture. And one that complicates everything. It also makes Draco’s blood boil.

Why does Potter keep doing this? Why can’t he just leave things the way they are? He’s treating Draco like he’s someone special, someone he cares about, when in reality, Draco is just someone that Potter likes to fuck. And these stupid, nice things that Potter keeps doing are confusing everything, skewing the boundaries of this—Draco refuses to call it a relationship— _thing_ they’ve shakily built. Draco knows how easily it could all crumble to nothing. 

He’s putting an end to this now. 

When Draco steps out of the fireplace he expects to find Potter sprawled on the sofa, wearing joggers and a ratty shirt, and looking too good because of it. But the living room is empty.

“Potter!”

Draco mutters to himself when there’s no answer. He came to yell at Potter and the insufferable git isn’t even here.

Draco stomps through Potter’s flat toward the kitchen, intending to dig up some parchment and leave Potter a rude note to find when he gets home. Draco stops in his tracks however, when he enters the room and finds Potter sitting calmly at the kitchen table, just the hint of a smirk on his face.

Any patience Draco might have had evaporates, and he throws the container of cake on the table with a satisfying clang. 

Potter frowns. “Is there something wrong?”

“Yes,” Draco hisses, “That stupid owl of yours ruined my dinner again! I had things to do tonight, Potter, and instead I had to come over here and return this—what even is this?”

“It’s German chocolate cake,” Potter says slowly, looking at Draco like he’s the one being unreasonable, “It’s your favourite, isn’t it?”

Draco throws his hands up in frustration. “Yes. No, I know what it is, you moron. I’m asking what it means? Why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing what?” Potter is still sitting there, looking completely unbothered by Draco showing up unannounced to shout at him. Why isn’t he getting mad? He’d usually have Draco pinned against the wall by this point.

“Being nice!” Draco yells, “Sending me things. Acting like this is some kind of relationship.”

Potter smiles at him then, and it’s just the slightest bit off. “Did you ever think that maybe I’m not doing these things to be nice? Maybe I just wanted to fuck you tonight and I knew this was an easy way to get you over here. Maybe I’m not nice at all, Malfoy.”

That answer is unexpected, and so is the sting of disappointment Draco feels in his chest. There’s a part of him, small though it may be, that likes Potter’s stupid little gestures. He pushes it away though, because this is good. It means this thing between them can continue and stay uncomplicated. But—

“Maybe I don’t want fucked tonight.”

Potter meets his eyes, searching for something there, before he picks up his wand and twirls it in his fingers. “Maybe. But you won’t tell me no.”

And with a flick, Draco’s clothes are gone. He yelps as the chilly air of the kitchen settles over his exposed skin. 

“Come here,” Potter says, his voice low as his eyes rake over Draco’s naked body.

Draco should refuse. He should say no, tell Potter to fuck off, get his clothes and leave. But he can already feel the anger seeping from his body and being replaced with a fuzzy sort of calm. So he walks over to the table, stopping just inches from where Potter still sits, turned sideways in his chair.

“Kneel.”

The word is an order, and Draco shivers, feeling safe and protected as he immediately obeys.

Potter summons the cake with a flick of his wrist and a muttered _Accio_. A second later a fork sails through the air and right into his hand.

“Potter—“

But Potter interrupts. Which is probably for the best because Draco has no idea what he was even going to say, “You know, I made this for you. I know it’s your favourite and—“ Potter shakes his head, swallowing thickly, and Draco can’t look away, “I’m good at it. Cooking. But I don’t like doing it for other people. Residual trauma from my fucked up childhood I guess. But then this morning I made you breakfast and I didn’t mind it so much.”

Draco wants to ask about the ‘childhood’ comment, but he’s shocked silent by the admission, at learning yet another complicated piece of the puzzle that makes up Harry Potter.

“Open your mouth.” Draco does and Potter slides a bite of rich chocolate cake inside. It’s delicious, and Draco moans at the taste, “Good?”

“Yes.” Draco is panting and breathless already, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

They continue like that, Potter feeding him small bites as he kneels on the floor. His knees are starting to protest when Potter finally lays the fork down. He scoots his chair back a bit and tells Draco to stand up.

Draco’s legs are tingling and he stumbles, but Potter’s hands steady him, holding tightly to his waist. 

Once Potter seems satisfied that Draco won’t fall over, his hands are gone, quickly undoing his jeans, popping the button and lowering the zip with sure fingers. Then he’s pulling out his cock. It’s long and hard, and already flushed red. The tip is wet, clear fluid gathered there and Draco wants to sink back to his knees. Wants to lick it up with his tongue. But Potter swipes it away with his thumb, smearing the slickness around. 

“Sit up on the table.”

Draco’s movements are shaky as he climbs up, facing Potter and waiting for his next instruction.

Potter doesn’t seem to have anything else to say though, as he grabs Draco by the ankles and hooks them over his shoulders. Then his thumbs are spreading Draco open.

It feels obscene, filthy, to be on display like this while Potter still sits there mostly clothed. But Draco stops worrying about that when he feels Potter’s tongue lick a broad stroke over his arsehole. 

“Fuck, Potter.”

Potter moans in reply and the sound vibrates through Draco’s body, making his cock twitch and drool precome all over his stomach. 

Potter pulls back just enough to speak. “My turn for dessert.”

And fuck, that makes Draco squirm, his body seeking out the friction he so desperately needs. 

Draco leans back and braces himself on his hands as Potter gets back to it. It feels like hours, Potter working him open with only his tongue. Potter’s mouth is incredible, warm and wet and devastatingly good.

”You taste fucking amazing, Malfoy,” Potter whispers. Draco moans in reply and closes his eyes, already overwhelmed.

Potter alternates between light, teasing flicks with his tongue and hard, sucking licks. Every once in a while Draco feels the hint of teeth, biting at him, and it has him pushing forward against Potter’s face.

When Potter finally pulls away the visual is even better, his lips are red and shiny, face flushed and green eyes dark.

Draco expects more prep, Potter is nothing if not thorough, but he simply rubs a hand across his mouth and pulls Draco forward and into his lap.

Potter grips his own cock tightly around the base and Draco lifts up without needing to be told, silently waiting for Potter to conjure lube and line himself up. And then he sinks down, savoring every single second of the delicious burn. 

When he’s finally seated completely, Draco pants out a breath and looks at Potter. He’s so beautiful like this. And Draco can’t resist, leaning forward to crash their mouths together, whimpering when he tastes himself on Potter’s tongue.

Potter nips at his bottom lip and then—

“Fuck yourself on my cock.”

A whine escapes Draco’s throat and he moves his hands from where they’ve made their way into Potter’s hair, sliding them down to grip his shoulders. 

But Potter tsks, saying, “No.” And then he’s grabbing Draco’s wrists tightly, bringing Draco’s arms around his back and holding them there in one hand. His other hand returns to Draco’s hip to steady him.

Draco plants his bare feet against the cold floor and pushes himself up, hovering above Potter for only a moment, just the head of his cock still inside, and then he drops back down. 

They both moan at the feeling and Draco starts up a fast pace, bouncing in Potter’s lap. Potter leans forward, mouthing at his neck, sucking bruises there. He seems intent to mark Draco up tonight, more so than he usually is. Potter’s lips slide across his sweat-slick skin, teeth nipping harshly before his tongue darts out to soothe.

The denim of Potter’s jeans is rough against Draco’s sensitive skin, the zipper digging into the back of his thighs. That sharp sting of pain making everything that much better.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco says, trying to pull his hands free, “Please, I’m so close.”

Draco tries not to think about the fact that there’s always a point, where Potter becomes _Harry._

“Yeah, me too. Draco, baby fuck,” Harry growls, finally releasing his hold to gather Draco closer, fucking up to meet Draco’s thrusts and hitting his prostate every time. Draco winds his hands around Harry’s neck, his cock rubbing against Harry’s stomach, and the friction is enough to push Draco over the edge. He comes hard with a curse and Harry’s name on his lips.

Harry doesn’t miss a beat, standing to lay Draco out on the table, and starts to pound into him. Only one, two, three hard thrusts—and then he’s coming too.

Potter rests his forehead on Draco’s heaving chest, pressing gentle kisses against his collar bone and whispering soft words that Draco’s hazy brain can’t comprehend. 

And if Draco sleeps in Potter’s bed again that night, no one but them has to know.

. . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this update took me so long!! Real life got in the way big time the last few weeks but I’m back :) and I hope you guys enjoy <3

The Leaky Cauldron has changed a good bit over the last year. The once dark and gloomy pub has been completely transformed—and Harry has to admit that Hannah has done a good job with the place. It’s now brightly lit and welcoming, always filled with loud, happy voices, and the smell of delicious food cooking hangs pleasantly in the air. 

Tonight is no exception, the Leaky is packed full of witches and wizards celebrating the end of another work week. But for some reason, it seems even louder than usual to Harry, the noise grating on his already strained nerves.

He curls his fingers around the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white, and tries to focus on something other than the way his pulse is thudding wildly at the sight of Draco standing at the bar. He’s almost stood up three times now, but has managed to talk himself out of it. His patience is thinning though, and he feels ready to snap. 

Yes, Harry is aware that he has a tendency to be a little... _over-protective_ of things that belong to him. Growing up he never had anything of his own, even his clothes were someone else’s. So as he got older, and started to accumulate things that were his and his alone, he guarded them carefully. Treasured them. 

He’s never felt this way about another person before though. 

But with Draco, well, he’s always the exception isn’t he? It’s almost primal, the way Harry feels about him, some hindbrain instinct urging him to stake a claim. He wants all of Draco’s attention, wants to be the center of his universe. And maybe that’s wrong. Unhealthy. But Harry’s in too deep now to care. Draco Malfoy is _his_ , and Harry is determined to own him; mind, body and soul.

Which is why Harry has to physically restrain himself from storming across the room and snatching Draco away from Theo goddamn Nott, who’s leaning too close into Draco’s personal space, touching him and making him laugh.

At the moment, another smile is lighting up Draco’s face, and Harry grips his beer so tight he’s afraid the glass might crack to pieces in his hand. That smile, all perfect white teeth and eyes crinkling, has his heart speeding up, and Harry wants to fucking hex Nott right in his stupid face. 

“ _Harry!_ ” Ron yells close to his ear, making Harry jump and reluctantly drag his eyes back to his friend.

“Yeah?” Harry picks at the label of his beer before taking a long swig, suddenly wishing he ordered something stronger.

“Why did you invite Malfoy if all you’re gonna do is glare at him all night?”

Harry chokes on his drink. He coughs, splutters. Beer drips down his chin and he hastily wipes at his mouth. When he’s able to drag some air into his lungs again he rasps, “I didn’t invite him.”

Ron gives him a _look_ , so very disbelieving, and it makes Harry’s stomach flip.

“I didn’t. Why would you even think that?” Harry swallows and looks away, his eyes drifting back across the room, “Ginny’s the one who’s always bringing Slytherins along.”

“See I’d believe that, except I already asked Ginny about it and she didn’t invite him.” Harry opens his mouth but Ron barrels on before he can get a word out. “She said Pansy didn’t either.”

Well fuck.

“Must just be a coincidence he’s here then.” Harry shrugs, trying to seem unconcerned.

“Harry.” Ron looks uncomfortable, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Listen, you know what I think about Malfoy, but if he’s the reason—“ Ron shakes his head and takes another sip of his drink, leaving Harry to wonder what the end of that sentence had been. “All I’m saying is, I trust you. If you think he’s changed, that’s good enough for me. You don’t have to lie about being friends with him.”

And that makes Harry want to crawl under the table and hide. Because while Ron might be alright with Harry befriending Draco Malfoy, he suspects his best friend would feel differently if he knew what was really going on between the two of them. 

“He’s not so bad these days,” Harry replies, not meeting Ron’s eyes. Harry remembers telling his friend the same thing back in eighth year. 

Everyone had noticed the distinct differences in Draco Malfoy after the war. The way he kept to himself, sitting quietly at the back of their classes, never saying a bad word about anyone. But Harry was the only one that was bothered by the change in his former enemy. He had done everything he could think of to get under Draco’s skin, feeling accomplished when after months, he finally got a reaction. 

Of course, then Draco started going out of his way to rile Harry up in return, and they were right back to hurling insults at each other, fighting in the halls, and earning their fair share of disapproving looks from Professor McGonagall. But it wasn’t quite as satisfying as it had once been, at least not until Harry figured out that kissing Draco was a more efficient way to shut him up than punching him was. 

“So instead of sitting here trying to murder him with your eyes, why don’t you go and talk to him?” Ron’s words drag Harry back to the present, the chattering voices of the pub rushing back in and making his head throb. 

“Looks like he’s occupied at the moment.” Harry’s jaw tenses, teeth grinding together as he watches Draco lay a hand on Nott’s shoulder. He can feel Ron searching his face, so he drops his eyes to the table.

Ron makes a noise then, a half squeak, half groan, and Harry braces for impact. But Ron just sighs and changes the subject to work. As far as conversation topics go, it’s not much of an improvement.

“Things going any better with Smith?” 

“No. He’s still an idiot,” Harry says with a tired sigh. And he could leave it at that but he wants to bitch, just a little. He may not be able to openly complain about his—fuck buddy? Casual hook-up?—flirting with someone else right in front of his face, but he sure as shit isn’t passing up an opportunity to list all the ways his Auror partner is an incompetent moron, “I’d love to know whose arse he kissed to get into the program, because there is no way he made the cut on his own. Do you know what he did today?”

Ron shakes his head, a slight frown on his face.

“We were doing stealth exercises,” Ron nods and makes a go-on gesture, “He managed to trip over me while we were disillusioned and fire off a hex at the same time. Nearly singed my eyebrows off.”

Ron snorts, “It’s not a permanent thing, right? You said Robards would make his final decision once you’re done with training.”

Harry groans miserably, “Yeah but Robards hates me. He’ll probably partner us together out of spite.”

Ron’s frowning at him again, and Harry already knows what he’s about to say.

“Mate, maybe Hermione’s right. You’re not happy, maybe you should think about—“ 

Harry cuts in, because he can’t listen to this speech again. “Ron, don’t. It’s fine.” Because it’s easier to lie and pretend that going to work everyday isn’t slowly stealing his sanity, than it is to admit that the career he’s had his heart set on since he was fourteen, isn’t as great as he imagined. 

Ron doesn’t look convinced, but he drops it and starts telling Harry about a new product him and George are working on for the joke shop. Harry listens, _hmm’ing_ and _ahh’ing_ in the appropriate places, all the while keeping an eye on Draco, willing him to look over and meet Harry’s gaze.

Eventually he does, meeting Harry’s eyes for a brief second, before Draco leans in to whisper something in Nott’s ear, waiting for the other man to nod before he walks away towards the loo. Harry cuts Ron off mid-sentence, standing abruptly, his chair scraping loudly across the floor in his haste to follow.

It takes longer than he would like to push his way through the crowd and down the hallway leading to the bathrooms. By the time Harry swings the door open and steps inside, Draco is already at the sink washing his hands.

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and the jealousy that’s been building all night flares bright in Harry’s chest. Draco opens his mouth but Harry shakes his head. “Don’t.”

Harry quickly checks the stalls, making sure that they’re alone, before throwing an Auror grade locking spell at the door. He feels a sick sort of pleasure rise up in him when he sees the way Draco’s eyes widen.

“What the fuck was that, Malfoy?” Harry stalks closer, spitting the words into the space left between them. 

“I’m going to need you to be more specific, Potter,” Draco says, rolling his eyes and feigning nonchalance, but Harry doesn’t miss the way he takes a step back.

“I’m talking about you flirting with that areshole Nott and ignoring me all night.” Harry’s close enough now to grab Draco’s shoulders, running his fingertips feather-light down his exposed arms, gooseflesh following in their wake. “Were you trying to make me jealous?”

Draco swallows, throat bobbing, “That depends.”

“On what?” Harry asks, pressing closer still, pinning Draco against the sink with his hips, his fingers closing around Draco’s wrists.

“If it was working.” Draco’s lips twitch at the corners, just the ghost of a smirk there.

“You _know_ it fucking was.” Harry breathes the words against his ear, his eyes tracking the full body shudder they cause. “We’re leaving. _Now._ ”

Draco doesn’t protest, his only response a jerky nod. Harry releases him and unlocks the door, not bothering to check if Draco is following. Harry knows he will. 

Once they’re outside in the chilly night air, Harry’s head clears a little. He walks further down the shadowed side-alley, the click of Draco’s expensive shoes following a step behind.

Harry turns to face Draco, intending to grab him and Apparate away, but the look on Draco’s face is so unguarded, such a rare sight, that it leaves Harry frozen. Draco is all soft blonde hair and bright blue-grey eyes, and Harry can only stare dumbly as his pulse pounds loudly in his ears. Draco gives him a small smile then, and even though they’re standing under the inky night sky, in that moment it’s like Harry is staring directly into the sun. 

Suddenly, Harry is hot all over, and he needs to be closer, has to kiss Draco now. Can’t wait the mere seconds it would take to get them home. 

Draco doesn’t seem to mind, letting Harry back him up against the wall, meeting Harry’s rough kiss with eager enthusiasm. His mouth is hot and slick and perfect, and Harry lets his hands roam, touching every inch of Draco he can reach. 

With the smallest effort, Harry hoists Draco up, those long legs wrapping around his waist. Draco rolls his hips, rutting his half-hard cock against Harry’s and it’s so, _so good_.

Harry nips at Draco’s bottom lip, tries to pull back and just think for a second, but Draco surges forward, twisting his fingers into Harry’s hair to keep him close.

“Be good,” Harry growls against his mouth, “Or I’m gonna bend you over right here where anyone could walk by and see.”

The thought of that, of someone seeing them and knowing that Draco belongs to him, makes Harry’s cock twitch, suddenly so hard it hurts. Draco must like the idea too, because he whines, rubbing against Harry again, harder this time.

“Please,” Draco says, voice low, “Don’t wanna wait.”

It’s probably a bad idea. But—

Harry untangles them and spins Draco around to face the wall, plants his hands against the rough brick and presses close to his back.

“You’re a spoiled brat, you know that? Can’t say no to you.” Draco pushes back against him in reply. 

“You love it,” Draco whispers, but Harry doesn’t think he has any idea how true that statement is. 

Harry mouths at his neck, letting his teeth graze soft skin as his fingers quickly move to pull Draco’s cock free. He’s hard, heavy and hot in Harry’s hand, already slick with pre-come. 

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around Draco and start stroking, and instead slides his fingers up under Draco’s shirt and across his stomach, petting gently and feeling the muscles jump in response. His other hand moves lower, cupping Draco’s balls and tugging. 

Draco is writhing against him now, his moans and whimpers getting louder. He tips his head back onto Harry’s shoulder, exposing the perfect line of his throat, and Harry presses open-mouthed kisses there, nipping at the skin behind his ear the way he knows Draco likes. The action draws a loud whine from Draco, and he tenses up against Harry, obviously worried someone will hear. 

“Shh,” Harry whispers, “You’re alright, god, you’re perfect. I won’t let anyone see us.” And he won’t. Because this is _his_ , he’s the only one allowed to see Draco like this, wrecked and begging. The pleading words and broken sounds for his ears only. “You’re mine.”

Draco makes a needy noise, voice pitched low as he begs, “Please.”

“Please what?” His teeth catch Draco’s earlobe and bite down hard.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Harry. Please, touch me, make me come.”

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and wraps his hand around Draco’s cock. 

He strokes firmly from root to tip, gathering pre-come on his fingers to ease the slide. “Yes,” Draco hisses, his head tipping further back and Harry brings his free hand up to Draco’s throat.

And just like that everything else disappears. All the stress and tension Harry’s been carrying around all night is gone. The only thing that matters now is Draco’s pleasure. Harry doesn’t know how Draco does that, how he’s able to make all of Harry’s worries seem small and insignificant. When they’re together Draco totally eclipses everything else, the world narrowing down to just the two of them.

There’s only Draco, and the way they move together. Draco thrusts forward into Harry’s hand, then back against his straining cock, where it’s still trapped in his jeans. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

Harry picks up his pace, one hand stroking Draco’s cock fast, the other squeezing his throat hard, and it isn’t long before Draco is gasping, a shudder shaking his body as he spills over Harry’s fingers. 

Draco sags against the wall in front of him, and Harry follows him forward, peppering soft kisses to the back of his neck. After a moment their harsh breaths slow, and Harry decides they’ve pressed their luck enough for one night. He casts a quick cleaning charm to take care of the mess, then tucks Draco’s still half-hard cock back into his trousers. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Draco asks without turning around, his voice is quiet, unsure, like he thinks Harry might say no. Which is ridiculous, because Harry would have Draco in his bed every night if he could get away with it. 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, pressing a kiss to Draco’s temple, “Course you can.”

Harry wraps his arms tight around Draco’s waist, and then the alley is spinning away and they’re landing in his bedroom a second later. Draco finally turns to face him, and something in Harry’s chest squirms in delight when he sees the finger shaped marks on Draco’s throat. Harry brushes his knuckles against the abused skin before drawing Draco into a desperate kiss. 

Harry is still hard, it’s almost painful at this point, but he can’t seem to break the kiss, just keeps licking into Draco’s mouth as he tries to remember when exactly kissing Draco stopped feeling like a fight and started feeling like _this_. He’s not sure if it’s something that was instantaneous, or if it happened slowly over time. He supposes it really doesn’t matter.

“Let me suck you.”

Harry’s cock twitches and leaks at just the thought of Draco’s mouth, his head already nodding in answer and he breaks their kiss with sharp nip to Draco’s jaw. They quickly strip each other out of their clothes, then Harry falls back onto the unmade bed and props himself up on his elbows so he can watch. 

Draco stands gloriously naked before him, his skin flushed, cock fully hard again. Then he drops to his knees and swallows Harry down in one swift move. “Fuck,” Harry gasps, “Ah, fuck Draco, yeah, that’s it.” Draco moans around his cock, making a hot wash of sensation sweep over him. 

God, it’s so good, Draco’s mouth stretched wide around his cock, his lips shiny wet and red. Draco bobs his head, twirling his tongue as he comes back up and Harry sees stars. His hips jerk up, Draco gags a little but doesn’t slow down or move to stop Harry from fucking into the heat of his mouth. So Harry grabs a handful of silky blonde hair and thrusts again, harder this time. Drool leaks out of Draco’s mouth, running down the side of Harry’s cock and dripping onto his balls, and he’s so close. 

“Wait, shit, Draco s-stop,” Harry stutters, pulling Draco off, “Wanna come inside you. Want you to ride me.”

Draco visibly shivers and then nods, standing on shaky legs to make his way onto the bed. He straddles Harry and holds a hand out. Harry casts the spell and Draco’s palm fills with shiny lube. He reaches behind himself, whining softly as he starts to work himself open. Harry watches, riveted, and can’t resist wrapping a hand around Draco. He strokes him slowly, lightly, almost teasing. Draco bats his hand away a moment later, wiping the leftover lube onto Harry’s cock. “Come on, I’m ready, want you in me.”

Harry holds his own cock steady as Draco lifts up a bit and shuffles forward. Then he’s sinking down, slow and perfect. He’s so warm and tight, his body pulling Harry in until he’s fully seated. Harry breathes out, unsteady, and suddenly overwhelmed. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. Always feel so good inside me,” Draco whimpers, his hands coming to rest at Harry’s sides. Harry looks down to where Draco is holding tightly to him, his fingers curled possessively around Harry’s ribs, his nails biting into the sensitive skin there. 

Draco’s hands drive him crazy. The scar on his right thumb, the calluses from gripping a broom, the elegant way those long fingers wield a wand. They’re perfect. And if those hands weren’t holding onto him right now, Harry’s certain he would tremble apart. 

“Draco,” Harry whispers, and he knows his voice is too warm, too full of emotion but he doesn’t care. Draco looks so beautiful, his cock flushed and dripping, eyes blown wide. “You’re amazing, so good for me.”

Draco whines at the praise, then licks his lips and starts to move, raising up and dropping back down on Harry’s cock. He throws his head back, mouth hanging open as he works up a rhythm that has his cock slapping against his stomach and leaving a sticky trail behind. “Can’t—gonna, fuck, fuck, _Harry_.”

Harry plants his feet against the bed and snaps his hips up, driving his cock as deep into Draco as he can. He’s so close, can feel it, tingling at the base of his spine, the pleasure coiling tightly there. Draco sobs out something that might be Harry’s name and comes, coating both their stomachs. Harry goes breathless at the sight, at the way Draco tightens around him, and then he’s coming too, his whole body shaking with the force of it.

Harry sucks in a shuddering breath and pulls Draco down onto his chest, clutching at him and whispering nonsense words in his ear. Harry doesn’t know how long they stay there like that, wrapped around each other, bodies still connected, but he’d be happy staying right here, in this moment forever.

Eventually though, Draco rolls off him and they clean up just enough to sleep comfortably. Harry casts _Nox_ , his eyes already drooping as the room descends into darkness.

“I should make you jealous more often,” Draco says a moment later, and Harry can hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. 

He grins against Draco’s back, his own voice fond and full of affection as he whispers, “Hate you.”

“Hate you too, Potter. Goodnight.”

“Night, Draco.”

. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments make my day <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts chapter and hides*

Draco wakes up early the next morning, the first rays of dawn just starting to lighten the sky, but he feels well rested. 

He always sleeps peacefully in Potter’s bed. There are no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat reaching for his wand to defend himself against some unknown enemy. Harry sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door, and it makes Draco feel safe somehow. Protected. Settles some deep buried fear that Draco always carries with him. That fear, Draco knows, is probably a result of the year spent with Voldemort roaming the halls of his childhood home. But it’s washed away when he has Harry’s warm body next to him, his arms possessively wrapped around Draco, his breaths deep and even. 

Draco reaches out and pushes Harry’s messy curls back from his forehead gently, not wanting to wake him when he looks so young and untroubled in his sleep. But Harry stirs against him at the touch, pressing a kiss to Draco’s shoulder before he even opens his eyes.

“You talk in your sleep,” Harry mumbles, his voice scratchy.

Draco frowns. “I do not.”

“And how would you know?” Harry asks, sounding more awake and much too amused.

“I would never do something so undignified,” Draco answers with a sniff, “And I don’t snore either.”

Harry laughs softly. “No. You don’t snore.” Harry rolls them so that’s he’s hovering above Draco, looking down at him with bright green eyes and a small smile. “But you do talk.”

Draco suddenly feels self conscious with Harry’s intense gaze on him. “What do I say then?” 

“Lots of things. Most of it doesn’t make much sense,” Harry says, thoughtful, “Last night it was about your mum. You miss her.”

Draco’s face flushes. He does miss his mother, although maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he should still be angry at her for fucking off to France with his father, effectively abandoning him. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco mutters, trying to push Harry’s weight off him. 

But Harry catches his wrists, pinning them against the bed, trapping him there. “It does matter,” he says, face serious. Then his mouth is on Draco’s, and everything else falls away until it’s just warm skin and desperate kisses.

Harry makes him breakfast again, French toast and bacon this time. It’s delicious, and as a thank you, Draco helps clean up afterwards.

Harry stands at the sink, his hands submerged in soapy water as he scrubs. Draco’s eyes catch on the rivulets of water that run down Harry’s toned forearms as he passes the clean dishes to Draco for drying. It all could be done much faster with magic, but Draco finds Harry’s insistence on doing chores like this the muggle way strangely endearing, so he doesn’t object. 

It suddenly strikes Draco just how domestic this is. Even more shocking, is how much he likes it. It’s so different from what he’s used to. Meals at the Manor usually consisted of sitting at a too big table, sharing stilted conversations and uncomfortable silences. And now, he eats most of his meals alone. Draco doesn’t know which is worse.

“What are your plans for the day?” Harry questions, handing the last pan over.

Draco shrugs. “Nothing really. I have some research to do.”

Harry’s looking at him, chewing his bottom lip. “You should come with me to Andromeda’s.”

After a full minute of stunned silence, Draco finally asks, “Why on Earth would you want me to do that?” 

Harry shrugs, grabbing the tea towel from Draco’s hands to twist it in his own. “Because I like spending time with you.” Harry steps closer and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I know you miss your parents, but you still have family here, Draco. And I think they’d really like to meet you.”

“I doubt that, Potter.” Draco tries to move out of Harry’s reach, intending to gather his things and leave, but a hand on his arm stops him.

“Please,” Harry says, soft and quiet, eyes pleading. Draco’s resolve quickly begins to crumble. 

“I’d have to go home first to shower and change, and I really do have research that needs done...” 

“Shower here and borrow something to wear,” Harry says with a wave of his hand, “We won’t be there that long, so you’ll have plenty of time to get your work done later.”

And that’s how Draco ends up standing on the stoop of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, wearing borrowed jeans and a soft, long sleeved shirt that smells like Harry. 

“I thought Sirius Black left the house to you?” Draco asks, mostly to stall but he is curious.

“He did.” Harry’s eyes look haunted for just a moment before they clear. “I spent the summer after the war remodeling it, but once it was done I couldn’t—“ Harry cuts himself off with a sigh. “Anyways, I didn’t want to just sell it, so I offered it to Andromeda. There’s a lot of space for Teddy to run around and a nice garden.” 

Draco just nods. He understands. There’s no way he would’ve been able to go back and live at the Manor, even if the Ministry hadn’t taken it for reparations. “I was here once, when I was little. Mother brought me to visit Aunt Walburga.” Draco grimaces at the memory. “She was terrifying.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, be grateful we were able to remove her portrait.” And then he’s raising his hand and knocking. 

The door swings open a minute later and Draco sucks in a sharp breath. The resemblance to Bellatrix is uncanny, but then Andromeda smiles at them and it’s nothing like the menacing sneer Aunt Bella’s face used to twist into. 

“Harry, it’s lovely to see you, dear,” Andromeda greets, “And you must be Draco,” she says warmly, waving them both inside.

Draco follows Harry into the house, feeling jittery with nerves and out of place. 

“Teddy should be up from his nap soon. I thought we could have some tea and chat, before he’s awake and stealing all the attention,” she says, starting down a narrow staircase, which Draco realises a moment later leads to a basement kitchen. 

The kettle is just starting to whistle as they take seats at a long table. It’s old and scuffed in places, obviously the only thing in the room that hasn’t been replaced. 

Harry sits beside him, resting a hand on his knee to stop its bouncing. Andromeda pours them all tea, already knowing how Harry takes his and adding sugar to Draco’s at his request. She’s being friendly enough, much warmer than Draco ever could have expected, but he doesn’t miss the way her eyes keep drifting back to him. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, an apologetic smile on her face, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, dear. It’s just that you look so much like your mother.”

Draco is taken back for a moment. It’s the close resemblance to his father that people usually point out. “You really think so?” he blurts. 

Andromeda smiles at him again but there’s a sadness in her voice when she speaks. “Yes, really. It’s your eyes, they’re exactly the same shade as Cissy’s.”

“Sirius’ were the same too,” Harry offers, and Andromeda nods.

They all sip their tea in silence for a moment, and then Harry is asking after Teddy. Andromeda lights up as she talks about her grandson and Draco is happy that the boy seems to have so many people who love him in his life. 

The conversation flows easily between Harry and Andromeda, and Draco is content to sit back and listen. But then Andromeda’s wand buzzes against the table and Harry stands before Draco can protest. “I’ll get him.” Harry grins and disappears up the stairs, leaving Draco alone with his Aunt.

“So, Harry tells me your going to be a curse breaker?” she asks after the silence starts to grow awkward.

“Oh, yes. I only have a few months of training left,” Draco answers, surprised.

“Your parents must be very proud,” Andromeda comments. 

Draco opens his mouth to explain that they most definitely are not, but it’s then that Harry steps back into the kitchen, cradling a blue-haired toddler in his arms like he was born to do it, and Draco’s heart literally stops. Because Merlin help him, Draco is having _feelings_. 

It’s like a switch is suddenly flipped in his head and it all becomes clear in that moment. He has feelings for Harry. Deep, overwhelming feelings. Like, wants to be with him every second of the day, wants to wake up next to him every morning and fall asleep in his arms every night, wants to make him happy and be the reason he smiles, _fucking feelings_. 

The rest of the afternoon passes in a dazed blur. He knows they eat lunch, and he definitely holds Teddy at one point. He thanks his Aunt repeatedly for welcoming him so graciously into her home, and smiles when she tells him to stop by anytime. But through all of it, Draco is quietly freaking out, internally screaming at himself for letting this happen and wondering what he could have done differently to prevent it. But he quickly realises that it’s pointless. The damage is done, and he knows nothing would have stopped him from falling for Harry. 

Draco doesn’t really become aware again until they’re flooing back to Harry’s flat.

He’s barely taken a step into the living room when he’s grabbed by a pair of strong hands and shoved against the wall. The bookshelf beside him shakes from the force, the collection of snitches there wobbling precariously. 

He doesn’t fight it when Harry’s tongue slides between his lips. Doesn’t question what brought this on so suddenly. Only whines, when a hand roughly yanks at his hair, breaking the kiss and making his head hit the wall behind him with a thud. 

“Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands off you all day?” Harry growls against his throat, his teeth nipping at the skin there. “It was torture, watching you walk around in _my_ clothes. All I could think about was getting you out of them.”

Draco can only stare in a shocked sort of arousal, the confusion from his earlier revelation causing a storm of conflicting emotions to brew in his chest. 

But Draco doesn’t have time to decipher any of what he’s feeling, because Harry is dropping to his knees and quickly stripping him from the waist down. Harry’s thumb swipes up and over the head of Draco’s rapidly swelling cock, smearing around the wetness already gathered there. He lifts his thumb to his mouth then, sucking the taste of Draco off with a moan. 

Draco’s teeth dig into his lower lip, holding back a noise of his own. The sight of Harry on his knees—looking up at Draco through his lashes, his eyes dark and full of devotion—is absolutely devastating. 

Harry mouths at his inner thighs. “Don’t,” he says, voice muffled as the words are mumbled into Draco’s skin, “I wanna hear you. Wanna make you feel good.”

A moan does escape him at that, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut as Harry finally swallows him down. It feels too good to fight, and Draco surrenders, lets everything else drift from his mind, focusing only on the tight warmth of Harry’s mouth as he sucks. The slight graze of stubble against the sensitive skin of his balls sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine. His mouth falls open further, a whine escaping as he buries his hands in Harry’s hair and holds on. 

His orgasm starts to build, a knot of wonderful tension in his stomach. His fingers tighten in Harry’s hair, his hips starting to roll forward. “Harry,” he gasps, “Yes, fuck, I’m close.”

But then Harry’s mouth is gone and a hand is clamping around the base of Draco’s cock. He cries out at the denial and his body moves forward, seeking out what he so desperately needs. But Harry’s free hand comes up to pin him harder to the wall.

“No.” Harry leans close and bites at a sharp hip-bone. “Not yet.”

“Harry,” Draco grinds out as his cock throbs, aching for release, “Please, you have to let me come.”

“No,” Harry says again, his voice dangerously low this time, “I don’t gotta let you do anything. You’ll come when I say you can.”

Draco whimpers, tilting his head back and baring his throat as he submits completely. 

“Good boy,” Harry whispers, then his mouth is sliding over Draco’s cock once more.

A slick finger circles his hole a moment later and his back arches at the dual sensations. His thighs are trembling now as his legs threaten to give out, and Harry must notice, because the arm he’s pinning Draco with shifts, Harry bringing his other arm up as well to support more of Draco’s weight and soothe some of his discomfort. 

Then another well-lubed finger is pushed into him without warning, twisting and stretching him efficiently, grazing his prostate and hurtling him back to the edge. His cock is leaking a steady stream into Harry’s mouth, his tongue lapping up every drop and digging into Draco’s slit, roughly seeking out more. Draco feels completely taken, his moans turning to broken sobs as Harry slides a third finger inside him. The burn steals his breath for just a moment, then the pleasure is back, building again. 

Harry shoves into him relentlessly, still sucking and licking at Draco’s cock, and Draco chokes out a warning even though he knows it’ll make Harry stop and pull back. “Harry, ‘m gonna come, please—don’t s-stop.”

But just as he suspected, Harry pulls off Draco’s cock and slides his fingers free, leaving Draco’s hole wet and fluttering at the emptiness. Harry gets to his feet, cupping Draco’s face in both hands as he devours his mouth.

“Hold on,” Harry mumbles into the kiss, but the jolt of Apparation still shocks him.

“Fuck,” Draco bites out, as he sways on his feet. But Harry’s strong arms keep him upright, holding tightly to his sides as he walks them backwards towards the bed.

He pushes Draco down onto his back and crawls up after him to cover Draco’s body with his own. Their eyes meet, and in that moment Draco feels such a deep connection to the man above him that it makes his chest ache. God, he loves Harry so fucking much. And he knows this will ruin him, because Harry Potter is _everything_. Everything Draco wants and needs, and everything he can never have.

His eyes burn with emotion and he blinks to clear them, tries to get ahold of himself. “Fuck me, please.”

Harry looks equally affected and only gives a shaky nod in response. He brings their lips together again as he lines his cock up and breaches Draco’s willing body. Draco lets the feeling of being stretched wide around Harry’s cock overwhelm him, finally floating away completely as the world narrows down to just the two of them. 

Harry doesn’t pause to give Draco time to adjust, just pulls back out until only the head of his cock remains inside, and then he’s thrusting forward, again and again. Draco’s nails dig into Harry’s back, and Harry just clutches him closer, gripping Draco’s thighs hard enough to bruise. It feels like Harry is trying to crawl into Draco’s skin, his hands and mouth never breaking the contact as he keeps pounding into Draco. 

Draco’s eyes slam closed on a particularly hard thrust but he can hear Harry’s rough, gasping breaths and only has enough presence of mind left to demand _harder_ and _deeper_ and _more_. 

“Draco,” Harry groans, his pace quickening as he buries himself into Draco over and over, “Draco, love, look at me.”

Draco forces his eyes open, meeting Harry’s gaze, and he can’t hold back the sob that claws its way out of his throat at the look of unguarded emotion shining in Harry’s eyes. 

“Do it,” Harry says, breathlessly, “Come. _Now._ ”

Reality shatters around him as Draco’s body obeys, and he comes in hot spurts over his own stomach, his cock untouched. His vision whites out, static filling his ears as pleasure surges through his body. He’s vaguely aware that he’s making noise, distantly feels Harry tense against him as he too falls over the edge, but he can’t focus on anything expect the euphoria spreading through him. 

He goes limp, eyes drifting shut once more. Harry presses soft kisses against his face, his voice warm and brimming with praise as he whispers words that Draco can’t quite comprehend. 

Draco whines, a hand reaching weakly for Harry as his weight suddenly disappears. 

“Shh, you’re alright. Just have to get my wand so I can clean us up.”

Draco grumbles but allows it, and a moment later he feels a cleaning charm wash over him. The bed dips as Harry settles back down beside him and then he’s being pulled into Harry’s arms, already drifting to sleep.

. . .

It’s later, after he’s gone home for the night, that the full weight of everything that happened today finally hits him.

Draco sits on the sofa, knees drawn up to his chest as silent tears slide down his face. A bouquet of beautiful red roses sit on the coffee table next to some parchment and a quill.

He knows what he has to do. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

This is the right decision, he tells himself firmly. He has to get out now, before he becomes more attached and falls even harder. This will save both of them from further heartbreak, and really, he’s ignored his parents wishes long enough. 

His hand shakes as he writes—

_Mother,_

_I’m ready to move forward with the marriage arrangements._

. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to scream at me in the comments but I promise there will be a happy ending for our boys <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hoping this fast update will help everyone forgive me for the way the last chapter ended <3 
> 
> Fair warning though, this is still pretty angsty, but things will start getting better soon and there will absolutely be a happy ending! 
> 
> enjoy :)

_Crash!_

Harry’s coffee cup hits the floor and shatters into pieces. He snatches his wand up from the table, gripping it tightly in shaking fingers as he casts _Incendio_ at the morning edition of the Prophet. He almost feels like he’s watching from somewhere outside of his body as the paper bursts into flames, the engagement announcement disappearing until all that’s left is a pile of ash.

With another sharp flick of his wand, the dishes from his abandoned breakfast fly across the room and smash into the wall. The cupboards swing open and then slam closed a second later in a series of loud bangs. His raging magic flows out of the room and through his flat; bookcases are knocked over, picture frames fall to the floor and the lights flicker wildly. Anger pulses through his body in violent waves, but underneath he can feel his heart breaking. 

He’ll admit that the last few weeks have been hard. Most nights he barely sleeps, his bed too empty without Draco there. At first, Draco’s excuses seemed valid, so Harry didn’t worry. But the more time that passed, the further Draco seemed to push him away. He didn’t understand it, couldn’t figure out where everything had gone so wrong. 

And now he finally has his answer. 

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, but all he can picture is Astoria Greengrass, with her slim arms wrapped around Draco. _His_ Draco. 

Harry doesn’t remember walking into the living room or opening the floo connection, but suddenly he’s there, kneeling in front of the fireplace. “Malfoy!” he yells into the flames. He hears some shuffling from the other side and then Draco’s face pops into view.

He takes one look at Harry and then drops his eyes to floor. “I take it you’ve seen the paper.”

“Get the fuck over here,” Harry growls, and he has to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from dragging Draco through.

“Fine.”

A second later Draco steps out, dusting himself off as he glances around at the mess left behind from Harry’s outburst, but he doesn’t comment. “Well, what is it, Potter?”

“You’re a right fucking arsehole, Malfoy.”

“I’m aware,” Draco mutters. He’s keeping his distance, standing as far away from Harry as he can, “Was there a point to this or did you just call me over here to insult me?”

Harry pulls at his hair in frustration. “I want to know what the hell is going on!”

“You really need me to spell it out for you, Potter?” Draco scoffs.

Harry stalks closer, just barely resisting the urge to grab Draco and shake him. “Seeing that I’m the bloke you’ve been sleeping with for over a year now, I think I deserve some kind of explanation.”

“What do you want me to say?” Draco finally looks up and meets his gaze, and Harry’s heart stutters in his chest as he takes in the dark circles beneath Draco’s eyes and the way the normally striking grey irises are dull and flat. “I have a responsibility and I can’t ignore it any longer.”

“But I thought…” _You were mine,_ goes unsaid, but the words hang in the air between them.

“What did you expect? This thing we have,” Draco says, motioning in between them before sighing heavily, “It was never meant to last.”

“It could though,” Harry says, with so much conviction, grabbing Draco’s hand and squeezing it hard, “I—fuck, Draco, you mean so fucking much to me. Just please. Don’t do this.”

“Harry,” Draco says softly, shaking his head as he tries to pull his hand free, “I’m sorry.”

And Harry doesn’t know what else to do. So he pulls Draco to him, their chests colliding hard—and then they’re kissing. Harry slides his hands beneath Draco’s shirt, his fingers clutching warm skin, and he feels the exact moment that Draco goes pliant against him.

“Can we? Just one more time,“ Harry whispers against Draco’s lips, “ _Please_.”

Draco shudders against him, nodding quickly. “Fuck, yes. Whatever you want. Anything.” 

_Anything he wants._ It’s the cruelest kind of lie. Because what Harry wants is to keep Draco forever, he wants to be the one to take care of him, always. And the words are right there, on the tip of Harry’s tongue; _I love you. So stay, stay here and let me._ But saying them would just make it hurt worse in the end, so he swallows them down and kisses Draco with everything he has instead.

What follows is not just sex and it’s certainly not fucking. Everything is soft and intimate in a way that Harry had once been convinced they could never have. It’s slow and tender and _loving_. 

Harry removes Draco’s clothes slowly, committing every inch of skin he exposes to memory. He traces his fingers over every perfect imperfection, over each freckle and every scar. He kisses Draco, from his bony ankles, up toned legs, to his flat stomach. The his mouth moves higher, over Draco’s collarbones, lips brushing against the pulse point in his neck. Finally, he reaches Draco’s mouth, nipping gently at soft lips, dipping his tongue inside again and again. 

It’s so good, every touch sends a jolt of pleasure up Harry’s spine, but he can’t help thinking that this might be the last time. His last chance to have Draco, naked and on his back beneath him, to be cradled in the v of Draco’s long legs. So he tries to savour it, to be here, present, for every single second.

Harry doesn’t warn him before rubbing a wet finger against his rim, and Draco jumps at the contact. 

“Easy,” Harry soothes, his voice low and breaths already harsh.

Draco nods, licking his lips as he drags Harry down into another kiss. Harry slowly slides his finger inside, and Draco breaks the kiss with a gasp, letting his head fall back. Harry takes the opportunity and latches onto his neck, sucking and biting until Draco’s skin is covered with purpling marks.

Harry takes his time, twisting and curling his finger as he pumps it gently. It’s only when Draco starts moaning, demanding _more, please_ in a broken whisper, that Harry finally adds another finger. Draco is so tight around him, his body pulling Harry in deeper and deeper with each thrust of his fingers. He rubs over Draco’s prostate, making him cry out and arch up from the bed. There’s a sheen of sweat covering Draco’s body, his mouth parted in pleasure, grey eyes sparking bright. And Harry has to be inside him, now.

When Harry pulls his fingers free, Draco gives a displeased whimper. Harry hushes him and kisses his forehead while he slicks himself up. He presses the head of his cock against Draco’s hole, the muscle loose and ready. 

“Draco,” he breathes, and Draco looks up him with glazed eyes, “I want you to remember something for me. Can you do that?”

Draco swallows, nods. “Yeah.”

Harry grabs Draco’s hands, threading their fingers together as he pins Draco’s wrists to the bed. “No matter what happens after this, _you’re mine_. Always gonna be mine.”

“Yours,” Draco agrees, and Harry pushes inside.

Harry’s breath catches and he makes a strangled sound as he sinks into the heat of Draco’s body. He pushes in and in until he’s fully enveloped, and then he pauses. Draco whines in his ear but Harry ignores it, staying still and just feeling for a moment.

After several seconds, Harry finally pulls back out, before thrusting in once more, and everything feels like too much and not enough, his body flooded with conflicting sensations. 

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good,” Harry rasps, starting to establish a rhythm. 

Draco moans, mouthing at Harry’s jaw and wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist. His feet slide against the sweat that’s collected on Harry’s lower back, but Draco just locks his legs tighter and encourages his hips into a slow, deep roll. 

They hold each other tight, bodies pressed together so closely, that Harry can hear every hitch of Draco’s breath and feel Draco shaking against him

“Hey, hey, shh. You alright?” Harry asks, his lips brushing Draco’s ear as he speaks. 

“Y-yeah. I-I’m fine,” Draco stutters out, his voice barely there, “Don’t stop. Please.”

So Harry kisses him. Mouth dragging over his lips, his cheekbones, across both closed eyelids as he thrusts harder, making pleasure spark everywhere. 

“Yes, Harry, please,” Draco moans. So Harry goes a little rougher, faster, loses his tightly held control. 

He doesn’t think about what will happen after this, doesn’t think about the pain and the heartbreak he knows he’ll suffer. Instead, he thinks about how whole and complete he feels, buried deep inside Draco. He thinks about how much he loves him, how much better and brighter his life has become since Draco came along and filled in all the empty spaces.

“Harry, Harry, please. So close, please,” Draco starts to ramble, and Harry groans, snapping his hips harder.

He feels the pressure start to build, coiling tightly at the base of his spine as his balls draw close to his body. “I’m here. I’ve got you, Draco,” he whispers, dropping down to one elbow while his other hand drifts lower to wrap around Draco’s cock, “Come on, let go.”

Draco tenses, letting out a wrecked sob and holding Harry impossibly closer as he comes between them. His muscles contract, squeezing Harry tight and pulling him deeper, and Harry let’s himself fall. He comes hard, his orgasm going on and on, pulse after pulse making him tremble as he fills Draco up. 

They stay there, not moving for several minutes as they both slowly come back down. Their breathing slows, syncs up, and then Draco tips his head back, and their gazes lock. Harry watches, dread filling him, as the hazy fog clears quickly from Draco’s eyes. 

“This can’t happen again.”

Harry swallows hard around the lump of emotion lodged in his throat and rolls off Draco, who suddenly can’t seem to get out of Harry’s bed fast enough. He stands, grabbing Harry’s wand from the bedside table to cast a cleaning charm over himself, then walks around the room on slightly shaky legs to gather his scattered clothing. And Harry says nothing. He can only watch as the most important person in his life prepares to walk away from him for good.

“Is this really what you want?” Harry finally asks, once Draco’s mostly dressed, and he doesn’t recognise his own voice, “Some sham of a marriage—she’ll never be able to make you happy.”

“I don’t have a choice, Potter—“

“You always have a choice!” he shouts. He gets up, quickly pulling on his boxers, “You’re just making the wrong one.” Harry laughs then, the sound echoing around the room, hollow and bitter. “You’ve always been good at making the wrong choices, though.”

“Fuck you,” Draco hisses, the tips of his ears reddening in anger, “This is over, I’m done.”

Harry takes a step forward, reaching out. “No, Draco wait. Please just—“ his words cut off and a tormented sound breaks free from his lips, because Draco’s spinning away, leaving nothing behind but a burst of magic and a loud crack ringing in the air.

Harry sinks to the floor, his pulse pounding in his ears and his chest tightening. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he tries to take careful breaths. In. And out. But his lungs feel constricted, his mouth dry, and he can’t swallow against the sob building in his throat.

The early morning light coming in through the gap of the curtains is making his eyes sting, so he closes them, pinching the bridge of his nose hard as he wills the tears away. But it’s no use, they still fall. 

Draco’s gone. 

Harry feels the loneliness settle over him, cold and heavy, like a giant slab of ice slamming into his chest, going right down to his very core. 

It hurts.

. . .

It’s 3:07 a.m. and Harry can’t sleep. He has to be at the Ministry in a few short hours to start what will be his last week of Auror training, so he really needs to get some rest. He shifts around, trying to get comfortable in the unfamiliar bed of Ron and Hermione’s guest room. 

After Draco left, Harry stayed frozen on the floor, curled in on himself as the tears streamed down his face. He doesn’t know how long it took, but eventually his eyes ran dry and he was able to stand. He took one look around at his bedroom, his ears ringing with how quiet it was, and he knew he had to get out of there.

He quickly got dressed, grabbed his broom and left.

He’d never been more grateful to Ginny for giving him the access code to the Harpies stadium. The pitch was empty, as he knew it would be, and he breathed deeply before kicking off and shooting into the cloudless sky. Harry flew for hours, until his hands ached from gripping his broom and his eyes started to sting from the wind whipping around him. 

It was almost dark by the time he made it back to his flat, and he realised he hadn’t eaten all day. He searched the cupboards, firmly ignoring the mess from earlier and the cause of it. None of the food he had looked particularly appetizing, but he managed to choke down a sandwich and a glass of cold water.

With his stomach full, the exhaustion finally hit him. Turning in early sounded like a good idea, but as soon as he stepped back into his bedroom and saw the bed still mussed from his and Draco’s earlier activities, he balked. He nearly ended up on the floor once more as he thought about how the sheets would still smell like them, but somehow he steadied himself long enough to floo over to Ron and Hermione’s.

His friends were concerned, but they didn’t push for an explanation, just telling him they would be there when he was ready to talk and that he could stay as long as he needed.

Harry turns over again, kicking the blanket off and getting to his feet. He pulls his jeans on, grabbing his jacket from the chair in the corner and slipping it on. Then he makes his way silently through the house and out the front door. 

Ottery St. Catchpole is dark and quiet around him as he sits on the stoop, fishing the half-crushed pack of cigarettes from his pocket and uses his wand to light the tip of one. He takes a long drag, savoring the way it burns the back of his throat and immediately calms his shattered nerves. The sour smell of smoke hangs in the air around him, and he knows he’ll have to cast a freshening charm over his clothes before he goes back inside. Hermione will hex his bollocks off if she finds out he’s smoking again.

Which is why Harry’s thankful it’s Ron who finds him there only a few minutes later. The front door creaks open before closing softly, and then his best friend is dropping down beside him, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and eyes tired.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just sitting silently and offering a comforting presence at Harry’s side. 

Finally, Harry clears his throat and looks over at his friend. “Sorry if I woke you.”

Ron shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t sleep. Heard you get up and figured I’d come see if you were ready to talk.”

Harry sighs. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready to talk about it. But if there’s anyone who will listen without judgement, it’s Ron. 

“I’m in love with Draco Malfoy,” Harry whispers, and it’s the first time he’s said the words out loud. It’s freeing, cathartic in a way, to finally admit what he’s been keeping locked inside for so long. 

Ron doesn’t seem shocked by the admission, simply humming quietly and knocking his shoulder against Harry’s. “How long?” he asks, and Harry doesn’t know if he means how long they’ve been fucking or how long Harry’s been in love with him. Either way the answer is the same.

“Just after Winter hols in eighth year,” Harry answers honestly.

Ron whistles softly. “I didn’t think it’d been going on that long.”

Harry looks at him with wide eyes. “You knew? But you never said anything.”

“Of course I knew.” Ron laughs, clapping a hand to Harry’s shoulder. “I was waiting for you to tell me, mate.”

Harry can’t quite believe his friend is taking this so well. “And you don’t care? I mean, it’s Malfoy. I know how you feel about him.”

“I told you before, I trust your judgement. If you see enough good in him that you went and fell in love with the git, then he must not be all bad.” Ron smiles at him a little sadly then. “I saw the paper yesterday. Can’t say I was surprised when you showed up last night.”

Harry’s eyes fill with tears once more and he squeezes them shut. “Yeah,” he says roughly, “He ended it, said he has a ‘responsibility’ or some bollocks. Said he doesn’t have a choice.”

“Does he know how you feel?” Ron asks seriously, and Harry scoffs. He might have never said the words so plainly but surely Draco knows. 

“I think so,” Harry finally says, and Ron frowns.

“Now see, there’s the problem. You have to communicate. No, no listen,” Ron says, when Harry opens his mouth to protest, “Tell him, plain and simple, how you feel. And then if he still says it’s over, at least you’ll know he made that decision with all the facts.”

“It’s too late,” Harry mutters.

“If you really love him, it’s not, Harry.”

Harry just shakes his head and Ron seems to understand that the conversation is over for now. They both stand and head back inside soon after that. Ron pulls him into a crushing hug before letting Harry walk off back to the guest room.

When he’s settled back in bed, Harry closes his eyes, willing his brain to just give him a break and let him finally sleep. But instead he’s assaulted with a flood of images and whispered words. As clear as if he were looking into a pensieve, Harry sees every kiss, every touch, play out behind his closed eyelids. He sees Draco under him, on top of him, hears the broken way he would say Harry’s name, the way his face went slack with pleasure every time he came apart for Harry. 

He stops fighting and revels in the memories, and somehow, eventually, he drifts to sleep.

. . .

Harry feels like he just fell asleep when his wand buzzes to wake him later that morning. He groans, ending the wake-up charm, and then pulls the pillow over his head to block out the sunlight streaming in the window. His head is throbbing and he feels like death, and there is no way he’s getting out of bed. 

He doesn’t want to go to the Ministry, can’t imagine how miserable it’s going to be having to deal with Smith and all of his stupidity. He only has a week left and then he’ll officially be a Junior Auror. He’ll have a permanent partner and will get to go out on calls. He’s worked his arse off for the last year and it will finally pay off. He should be proud, but he only feels hollow, because the truth is, Harry doesn’t want to be an Auror. 

In a fit of spontaneous clarity, Harry grabs his wand. He tries not to focus too much on the fact that it takes him three tries before he’s able to cast his Patronus, but once the stag stands before him, he knows exactly what he wants to do.

“Robards, I’m not coming in today. Or any day for that matter. I quit.”

Harry smiles for the first time in the last 24 hours and falls back against the bed with a hysterical laugh, because holy shit he really just did that. 

Feeling a bit better, Harry let’s himself relax and closes his eyes. He’s almost back asleep when the door opens quietly and Hermione pokes her head in the room. “Harry, are you awake?” she asks. 

“Yeah.” Harry sits up, running a hand through his hair to try and smooth it down.

Hermione gives him a small smile and then walks across the room to sit beside him on the bed. “Don’t you have to be at work soon?”

Harry snorts, and Hermione looks at him with one eyebrow raised in question. “No, actually I don’t. I quit.”

“You what?” Hermione demands, her eyes wide.

“I quit,” Harry repeats, “Sent my Patronus to Robards a few minutes ago. You’re not upset are you?” Harry has to ask because he can’t quite interrupt the look on his friends face. “You’ve been trying to get me to quit for months.”

“Of course I’m not upset, Harry. I’ll support you in whatever you decide to do, you know that. It’s just a bit of a shock,” she says, reaching out to hold his hand.

“I just couldn’t do it anymore, ‘Mione,” Harry says with a shrug, “I lost the only thing that really makes me happy and now—“ he breaks off and tries to breathe. He wonders how long it’ll be before talking about Draco stops hurting so bad.

“You have such a big heart, Harry, and so much love to give. And that means you hurt more than most when that love is rejected,” she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “It’ll get better, I promise.”

“How are you so wise?” 

Hermione laughs and stands. “Flattery will get you breakfast, if you feel like getting your lazy arse out of bed that is.”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She’s almost at the door when she stops and turns around, her eyes suddenly serious once more. “Don’t give up on him, Harry. I know you’ll regret it if you do.” And then she’s gone.

. . .

Harry stays for breakfast, but after the table is cleared he says he needs to get home. Ron and Hermione send him off with hugs and kind words, and Harry doesn’t know what he did to deserve such amazing friends.

Once he’s back at his flat, he spends a few very long hours cleaning up the mess left from the previous day. He sweeps up the broken dishes and scrubs the now dried coffee from the floor. He rights the upturned bookshelves, mends the picture frames and rehangs them, but he can’t bring himself to change the sheets while Draco’s scent still lingers there. 

When he lays down to sleep later that night, he pulls Draco’s pillow to his chest, inhaling deeply even though it makes his heart ache and his throat tight. Harry knows that no relationship is perfect, and one with Draco Malfoy will probably never be smooth sailing, but getting to be with Draco is worth all the hurt and all the obstacles they’ll surely face. 

The simple truth of it is, Harry loves Draco, and there’s no one else in the world he would rather go through all the ups and downs of life with. 

Harry’s not giving up on him yet. 

. . .


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting closer to that happy ending <3

Beams of early morning sunlight are coming in through the window, warming Draco’s closed eyelids and slowly rousing him. He rolls over, away from the light, and pulls the blankets tighter around him. For those few precious seconds, he forgets.

But then, he remembers.

Draco kicks the sheets off with a huff and gets to his feet, pushing the invading thoughts away. He makes his way into the bathroom, starting the shower and letting the sound of water hitting the stone tiles soothe him. He strips out of his pajamas, not bothering to glance at himself in the mirror. He knows what he’ll see. Dark circles under his eyes, skin so pale it’s almost translucent, waist just a bit thinner than usual.

When he steps under the spray of hot water, he feels some of the tension melt away. His shoulders relax and for the first time since waking up, he feels like he can breathe.

He’s starting to hate mornings. He hates that time in between sleep and wakefulness, hates how suddenly reality filters in and everything comes rushing back. Hates how it suffocates him.

He grabs his shampoo from the shelf, squirts some into his hands and starts to lather his hair. He tries to focus only on the task at hand, but his body has other ideas. 

He washes and rinses his hair, ignoring his cock, hanging half hard between his legs. But the more he resists, the stronger the need becomes. He only feels slightly guilty as he wraps a hand around himself and starts to stroke, images of tanned skin and green eyes filling his mind. It isn’t long before the fantasy comes to life around him.

Harry, there in the shower with him, standing flush against his back, and it’s his hand—bigger and rougher than Draco’s own—that’s pulls at his cock now. Harry’s mouth moves across the back of Draco’s neck, pressing soft kisses and gentle nips of teeth there, while his other hand drifts down to the cleft of Draco’s arse. His fingers rub teasingly, before two are shoved inside without warning. Draco whines quietly, the hand speeds up. Then he hears those words again, whispered in Harry’s hoarse voice-- _You’re mine. Always gonna be mine_ \--and Draco comes. His release splatters the wall in front of him and he has to brace himself against the intensity of it. 

The pleasure fades fast though, being replaced with a hollowness that scares him. He scrubs quickly, efficiently, and gets out of the shower. A shiver rolls down his spine as the cool air of the bathroom hits his wet skin.

He shouldn’t have done that, and certainly not to thoughts of Harry. It only makes everything worse, makes the guilt and hurt swell up inside his chest until it feels like he can’t breathe. He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to fight against the panic as he struggles to draw in air.

He needs to stop this, but he can’t. Can’t stop thinking about Harry, can’t stop missing him. It’s a wound he keeps picking at, scratching and clawing until it starts to bleed again. 

Draco knows pain. He knows what it feels like to have your chest sliced opened, knows how it feels to have your own father _Crucio_ you. But this pain is different from anything he’s ever experienced before. Heartache, he’s learning, is a one of a kind thing. And it’s something he knows he’ll never completely heal from. 

. . .

When he walks into the kitchen, he isn’t at all surprised to find the owl perched by the sink.

“He just doesn’t give up,” Draco mutters, giving the owl’s head a scritch before it flies away.

Draco unwraps the small package, wondering what it will be today. Harry never sends anything extravagant, just small things; chocolates he likes, the quill he admired in Diagon one afternoon, a book he mentioned in passing. 

The box is small but surprisingly heavy. Inside rests a glass figurine--a dragon. Draco lifts it out carefully, watching the way the greens and yellows shimmer as he twists it this way and that. There’s a note with it that simply reads: I miss you. And Draco grabs the countertop to stop himself from Apparating straight to Harry’s and falling into his arms, telling him—

_I love you. I’m sorry._

. . .

Draco floos to Andromeda’s a few hours later, still feeling unsteady, like one wrong move will have everything crashing down around him. But then Teddy greets him with a happy squeal and a smile. He walks to Draco as fast as his short, stumbling legs will carry him, and something settles inside Draco’s chest.

“Hey little man.” Draco lifts Teddy up, grinning when the boys hair changes from blue to blonde. 

Andromeda’s face is fond as she presses a kiss to Draco’s cheek. “It’s good to see you, dear.”

“You too,” Draco says, letting Teddy down when he squirms, “Sorry I wasn’t able to stop by last week.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” his aunt says, waving off his apology, “I’m guessing you’ve been quite busy, with the wedding planning and all.”

Draco swallows, clears his throat. “Yes. Mother has been unbearable.”

Andromeda laughs. “I imagine so. She talked of nothing else at lunch yesterday.”

It’s still a bit strange to think of his mother and Andromeda spending time together, but he’s glad they could reconcile. At first, he was sure it would end with nothing but more animosity between the two of them. 

To say his mother was not pleased when she found out Draco had been speaking to his aunt, would be an understatement. He found her sitting at his kitchen table with a letter from Andromeda clutched in her hand, her face pinched and angry. She’d been snooping, which really shouldn’t have surprised Draco so much. Draco had snatched the letter away from her, but the damage was done.

“How did this happen?” Narcissa had demanded.

Draco hesitated before answering truthfully. “Harry. He invited me to go with him to visit Andromeda, and I went.” Draco shrugged, then pulled a chair out and sat across from his mother. “I’ve been back a few times since.”

“Harry?”

“Potter.”

“Since when are you friends with Harry Potter?” his mother asked, eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

“We—uh. We got to know each other better in eighth year.” Draco could feel his face flushing. “We’ve been…friends ever since.”

“Well. I’m glad, Draco. Harry Potter is a good friend to have, I’m sure,” she said, fingers tapping against the table, “But darling, Andy—Andromeda, what she did—”

“You mean how she chose her own happiness over the bigoted beliefs of her family?” Draco said, cutting her off, “That’s bullshit. Did the war teach you nothing?”

His mother brought a hand up to her chest as she inhaled sharply. “I will not have you speaking to me that way, Draco.” 

“I’m sorry," Draco mumbled, feeling about five years old, "But you’re going to have to get over it, because I’ve already invited her and Teddy to the wedding.”

“Draco, your father—”

“I don’t care!” Draco had yelled, immediately regretting it when his mother jumped. He continued, more quietly, “I am doing as you both asked, putting my own wants aside.” The words came out choked, broken. “She’s family. She’s coming to the wedding.”

His mother had given him the silent treatment for exactly two days before she agreed to meet with her sister. They’ve had lunch together nearly everyday since. It’s good. And the fact that his father is irate makes the whole thing even better in Draco’s opinion.

“Draco, sit. Drink your tea,” his aunt says, snapping him out of his thoughts, “I’m just going to put Teddy down for his nap.”

Draco does as he’s told, sipping his tea and watching as Andromeda scoops the little boy up. He does look tired, small fist rubbing at his eyes and stuffed Hippogriff clutched tightly to his chest. Andromeda disappears up the stairs and after a moment Draco can hear her voice drift down from the floor above, singing softly.

. . .

“So, tell me how you’re really doing,” Andromeda asks, walking back into the kitchen. Draco admires the way she flicks her wand with easy precision, setting the dishes to wash in the sink.

“Fine. I’m fine. A little stressed maybe, but having my mother taking up residence in my guest room will do that,” Draco answers, making Andromeda laugh.

“I don’t doubt it, but I’m guessing that’s not the only thing bothering you.” She’s suddenly serious, her eyes searching his face.

“No, I. I don’t know what you mean, there’s nothing bothering me.” He knows that Harry talks to Andromeda, so she probably has a very good idea of what happened between them. But Draco doesn’t want to talk about it. He came here for an escape. 

“Hmm. I think you do know. You’re just very good at being stubborn,” she says, smiling kindly, “You get that from your mother.”

Draco laughs, but sobers quickly. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses in a shaky voice.

Andromeda is quiet for a moment, her eyes unfocused as if seeing something far away. “You know, I was only nineteen when I married Ted. Same age as you are now.” Draco follows her gaze to the picture that sits on a small table in the corner. In it, Andromeda and her husband—the uncle Draco never met—are sitting on a picnic blanket, smiling at one another. They look happy. “We were married for twenty-eight years, which probably seems very long to you, but to me, it seems like such a short time now,” she says with a sigh, finally looking back to Draco, “I thought we would have so many more years together—I wish we would have. I wish he and Dora were still here with me but. Life had other plans, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Draco knows how inadequate they are.

“It’s not your fault, dear.” Andromeda pats his hand, before continuing. “The point is, the only regret I have, is that we didn’t have more time together,” she says, looking away again and clearing her throat, “Now I know I’m just a silly old woman, but I hope you’ll take some advice.”

Draco nods.

“Think about what you want your life to look like thirty years from now. If it’s married to this Greengrass girl, fine. But if it’s not, Draco…” Andromeda clutches his hand in her own, and she’s looking at him now, eyes bright and imploring. “I don’t want you to look back someday and have regrets.”

Draco’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. “I can’t—I don’t get to…” he stammers, his thought trailing off unfinished, but Andromeda hears it anyway.

“You’re a good person. Have you made mistakes? Yes. But you deserve to be happy, Draco. At some point, you have to stop punishing yourself for the past.”

. . .

Andromeda’s words keep him awake long into the night. 

He thinks about them over breakfast with his mother the next day. They distract him at his job interview that afternoon, make him distant over dinner with Astoria. 

Then, later that evening, they’re in the sitting room. His mother and Astoria have magazines and photographs spread over the coffee table, the witches and wizards in them happy and celebrating on their wedding days. He’s been zoned out of the conversation for a while now, but he thinks they’re talking about seating arrangements. Draco is here, a silent bystander, while a life he doesn’t want is planned around him.

And that’s when he finally allows himself to imagine the future he wants.

It hits him, full force in the chest. Because the details don’t matter. He can imagine it a thousand different ways, and it doesn’t matter what job he has, or where he lives. The only constant in that happy future is Harry. It’s all _Harry,_ _Harry,_ _Harry._

Draco hurt him, he knows, and suddenly all he can hear is the sound Harry made as he apparated away. It fills his ears, playing on a loop, over and over again. 

He stands up, knocking the chair over and not bothering to right it. He ignores his mother and Astoria’s concerned looks and walks to the hall closet, gathering his shoes. He pockets his wand, runs a hand through his hair to smooth it down.

“Draco? Where are you going?” Narcissa asks with a frown.

“I have to—I’m sorry but I can’t do this.” He knows he’s breathing too fast, probably looks like he’s gone mad, but he doesn’t care. He needs to talk to Harry, has to fix this before it’s too late. 

“Do what? What are you talking about, Draco, what’s wrong?” Narcissa is standing now, the seating chart abandoned to the mess on the table. 

“Astoria, you are wonderful, but I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.” He grabs a pinch of floo powder from the jar on the mantle. “I have to go.”

And then he’s spinning away.

. . .

Draco’s first thought once he steps out into Harry’s living room is, _he has a beard._

Harry jumped up from the sofa when he saw Draco step through the fireplace, his eyes wide with shock and something else Draco thinks might be hope. But he’s made no move further, still just standing there, arms dangling at his sides, staring at Draco.

Draco is aware that he needs to say something, but every word he knows seems to have evaporated from his mind.

As always, Harry takes the lead when Draco can’t. “Draco, what—what are you doing here?”

Draco swallows, takes a step closer. “You’ve sent me something, every single day. Why?”

“You really don’t know?” Harry asks. His smile is sad.

“I think I need to hear you say it.”

Harry takes a deep breath and closes the distance between them. He reaches slowly for Draco’s hands, cradling them in his own. “I love you. I’m in love with you. _You, _Draco Malfoy.” Harry lifts Draco’s hands, kissing each knuckle softly. “I love you and I want to be with you.”__

__Draco lets the words sink in. Lets them burrow beneath his skin and spread through his body. Then—_ _

__“I love you, too.”_ _

__

__. . ._ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that you guys are honestly amazing <3 All the kudos and comments on this story mean so much and have been such a big motivator for me to continue writing--so thank you!! The final chapter is here, full of smut and fluff, and the happy ending I promised. I really hope you enjoy!

_”I love you, too.”_

Harry kisses him.

It’s like being consumed by fire; flames lick up his arms, across his chest, down to the tips of his toes. It’s exactly what the itch underneath his skin has been screaming for. Harry breaks away with a gasp and tucks his face into Draco’s neck, inhaling deeply. He smiles as his nose fills with the scent of ink and leather and something sweet that’s undefinable but uniquely _Draco_. And it’s like Harry hasn’t been breathing up until this moment.

“Draco, fuck. I—” Harry abandons the sentence and covers Draco’s mouth with his own again.

It’s messy, uncoordinated. Any finesse they usually have is gone, lost to desire and need. Draco is kissing him with an honest urgency that Harry’s never felt before, love and devotion pouring out of him in waves that threaten to swallow Harry whole.

Draco clings to him, arms around Harry’s neck and fingers tangled in his hair, holding their bodies as close together as he can. Like he’s worried Harry will disappear.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Harry whispers, mouth moving down to Draco’s neck.

“I missed you,” Draco says, as Harry goes about covering every inch of skin available in bites and open-mouthed kisses, “I missed you so fucking much. God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh.” Harry presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then pulls Draco’s shirt up and off. 

He lets his eyes take in every line and dip of Draco’s body. The scars on his chest, the faded mark on his arm. It’s proof of their past, but more importantly, it’s proof of Draco’s resilience. He might be a little scarred, a little broken, but he’s here. 

And Harry’s never letting him go again.

. . .

Somehow, they make it to the bedroom. As soon as the door is shut behind them, Harry crowds Draco against it and slots their hips together. The hard line of Draco’s cock presses against his own, the friction making them both moan. 

“Too many clothes,” Harry complains, licking a stripe up the side of Draco’s neck.

“Do something about it then,” Draco says, and the hint of challenge in his voice makes Harry growl.

He yanks his own shirt off, then pulls Draco away from the door and lifts him up. As he walks, Harry leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth, making Draco cry out and arch against him.

“Oh, _fuck_! Harry, please.” Draco’s hands come up to grip Harry’s shoulders for support.

“I got you,” Harry mumbles into Draco’s chest, still licking and sucking as he comes to a standstill in the middle of the room.

“You’re teasing,” Draco whines, struggling in Harry’s grip. 

Harry lets him down, and before he can say a word, Draco drops to his knees. He pulls roughly at Harry’s jeans, undoing them and shoving them down his legs. Harry can only breathe out a soft _fuck_ , and bury his hands in Draco’s hair. 

Draco looks up at him through his lashes and he’s so damn beautiful, Harry has to squeeze his eyes shut. Which means he doesn’t see Draco move forward, his tongue dragging over the head of Harry’s cock and dipping into the slit. His eyes snap open, just in time to watch Draco’s mouth sink down, not stopping until Harry feels his nose brush against the hair at the base. He stays there, his tongue swirling and lips clamped down tight. Draco swallows, his throat constricting around the head, and Harry loses all ability to breathe for a second.

“Draco. Draco baby, that’s good, so good,” he rambles, hands tightening in Draco’s hair. Draco only moans in reply, the vibration pulling a whimper from Harry.

After another moment, Draco starts up a steady rhythm, one hand cupping Harry’s balls and rolling them between his long fingers. Pleasure shudders down Harry’s spine, his body going hot and tight. Every slide of Draco’s mouth feels amazing, and he’s so close already.

“Can I?” Draco’s voice sounds raw and fucked out. He pulled off just far enough to speak, his breath ghosting over spit-slick skin and making Harry shiver. His mouth is red, face flushed, and Harry can’t resist running his knuckles over a cheekbone, smiling when Draco leans into the touch.

It’s then that Harry notices that one of Draco’s hands is pressing against his own cock, still trapped in his pants. And he realises--

God. Draco’s asking for permission to touch himself. 

“Yeah,” Harry answers, voice rough, “Make yourself come, sweetheart.”

Draco keens high in his throat, fingers immediately moving to free his dick and get a hand around himself. And then his mouth is back on Harry, hot and wet, driving Harry closer with every flick of his tongue.

“Draco, gonna come, fuck,” Harry warns.

Draco moans around Harry’s cock, and Harry can only thrust—in and in and in—coming hard down Draco’s throat.

Draco’s mouth slips off and he falls forward, his head resting against Harry’s thigh. He whimpers, the sound so full of desperation, that Harry’s hand tightens once more in his hair. Harry pulls roughly, lifting Draco’s head and watching as his face goes slack and come coats his fingers.

“Christ, Draco,” Harry mumbles, pulling Draco to his feet, both of them stumbling before they manage to kick their pants away. They kiss then, soft and languid, tongues brushing lightly. Harry doesn’t know what he would have done if he’d lost this. “I don’t wanna stop kissing you.”

“Don’t then.” Draco runs a hand down Harry’s chest, long fingers dancing over Harry’s ribs, “You can kiss me for as long as you want.”

Harry pushes Draco backwards, making him fall to the bed with a grunt. Harry all but collapses on top of him, catching himself on his hands at the last second. He brings their mouths together again, moaning at the way their tongues slide together, at the little noises Draco is making in the back of his throat. Its soft at first, reaffirming something between them. But then Draco wraps his legs around Harry’s waist and his hips roll up to press against Harry, and it turns heated, very, very fast. 

By the time they break apart, they’re both panting and hard again. “Want your fingers in me. Want you to fuck me,” Draco whines.

Harry hums, lets his mouth slide down Draco’s throat while he fumbles for his wand. Draco swears and tips is head back with a groan at the first touch of a wet finger against him. “Two, please. I can take it, you know I can. Harry, please,” Draco begs, and Harry gives him what he wants, slipping two fingers inside.

Draco makes a beautiful visual. Harry can’t decide where to even look. Draco’s writhing beneath him, thighs shaking, his cock hard and leaking against tense abdominal muscles. His chest, flushed pink and heaving, already has a sheen of sweat coating it. There’s a purple bruise in the dip of his delicate collarbones, and several others decorating his neck. 

His lips are bitten red and parted slightly, letting soft sounds of pleasure escape as Harry works him open. Stretching and rubbing until Draco is loose and ready for him. “More,” Draco whines, and Harry obliges, fucking into him with three fingers, holding him steady with a hand on his hip. Draco’s eyelashes flutter, legs spreading apart further, and Harry can’t take his eyes off him.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Look at you, you’re so good,” Harry praises, as Draco fucks down and buries his fingers deep.

“Please.” Harry runs a gentle hand down Draco’s stomach, back up and over his ribcage, holding there a moment and feeling Draco’s lungs expand. " _Ah fuck_ , Harry.” 

“Please what?” Harry asks a little breathlessly, curling his fingers and grazing Draco’s prostate.

“Oh, god,” Draco whimpers, arching up, his cock dragging against Harry’s stomach, “Fuck me, please.”

Draco makes a wrecked sound as Harry pulls his fingers free. “Shh. I’ve got you, gonna give you what you want.” Harry quickly slicks himself up, hisses as he strokes his cock in a few fast pulls, then he’s pressing the head against Draco’s open hole. He slides inside, so easy, no resistance in Draco’s body at all. “Been too fucking long,” he chokes out, voice rough and barely controlled, “Need you, fuck Draco, love you so much.”

“Harry,” Draco says, high and breathy. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple, and Harry leans forward to catch it with his tongue. “Love you, too.”

They both take several deep breaths, then Draco’s hips twitch, and Harry starts to move, pulling out halfway before sinking back in slowly. Draco is under him, long and lean and exposed, and Harry doesn’t want to miss a second of it, wants to take his time. 

Draco has never been very patient though. 

“Come on.” Draco clenches down, digs his heels into Harry’s back. “Fuck me like you mean it, Potter.”

And that’s it.

Harry presses him down, pinning his wrists to the bed as he pounds into him as hard as he can. Draco matches his pace, rocking up to meet each deep thrust, shaking and gasping every time. Draco babbles, an endless litany of demands. He begs and pleads, and Harry gives into every request. Harry goes harder, faster, holds Draco tighter. Sweat is dripping down his face, burning his eyes, but he keeps them open, watching with reverence as Draco starts to come apart beneath him.

Draco lets out a strangled sob, tensing up tight around Harry’s cock, and Harry lets go and follows him. He bites down hard into Draco’s shoulder, thrusting in deep and staying there as the pleasure washes over him.

“Don’t,” Draco gasps out when Harry goes to roll off him, “Stay right here, please.”

Harry nods, throat suddenly tight, and gently lowers his body back down. Draco mouths at his neck, his shoulders, everywhere he can reach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And somewhere between one kiss and the next, they fall asleep.

. . .

It’s so late, it’s early, when Harry jolts awake. He panics, but only for a second, because everything’s alright. Draco’s here. Harry is still half on top of him, their legs tangled together, and Draco’s hand is carding through his hair.

“Sorry,” Draco whispers, pulling his hand away, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No.” Harry grabs for his hand and guides it back to his head. “Don’t stop.”

Draco laughs softly. “Okay.”

Harry drifts easily back to sleep, Draco a warm, comforting weight against him.

In the morning, Harry wakes up too hot. He glances down at Draco, asleep on his chest, and knows the smile on his face probably looks ridiculously sappy. But he doesn’t care. 

Last night wasn’t a dream. Draco’s really here, curled around him, mumbling in his sleep. His lips are pulled into a pout and his hair is sticking up in every direction, and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

He lets his thoughts wander, picturing what kind of life he and Draco could build together, a whole future unfolding behind his eyes.

“I can hear you thinking. Stop it and go back to sleep,” Draco mumbles, nosing into Harry’s neck.

“Don’t wanna.” Harry kisses his head, smiling when Draco’s arm tightens around him. “You were muttering about liquorice wands in your sleep.” 

Draco makes an indignant noise and pinches him. “Lies and slander,” Draco says, grinning up at Harry, “So, if more sleep isn’t an option, what do you want to do?”

Harry rolls them over, hovering above Draco long enough to steal a kiss, then he drops down and ruts his cock against Draco’s hip. “I have a few ideas.” And he does. He knows exactly what he wants, but doesn’t know how to ask for it, can’t seem to find the words.

“And here I thought you were going to offer me breakfast,” Draco complains with a pout.

Harry shakes his head. “After.” He presses a kiss to Draco’s chin, then sits up, kneeling over him.

His hand shakes as he reaches out to trace Draco’s lips, memorizing the shape of them. Then, he forces two fingers inside, resting them on Draco’s tongue. Draco moans, sucking his fingers and coating them with saliva. Once they’re nice and wet, Harry pulls away, keeping his eyes locked on Draco’s as he reaches behind himself and slips one inside. 

Draco eyes go wide, his mouth dropping open as he sucks in a sharp breath. “Harry. What are you...”

Harry’s heart feels like it’s rising higher, getting stuck somewhere in his throat. “I want you to fuck me,” he says, stopping to add lube and another finger.

Draco doesn’t say anything, just watches, his eyes tracking every movement as Harry works himself open. He’s done this enough on his own to know what feels good, knows the right places to rub to send sparks up his spine, and it isn’t long before he’s rocking back onto three fingers, craving more.

“Ready?” Harry asks, shuffling forward and grabbing the base of Draco’s cock to hold it steady.

Draco lays a hand over his stomach and looks up at him, something like awe shining in his eyes. “Are you sure? Because we don’t have to, Harry.”

And Harry knows he means it, knows that he could stop right now, but--

“I want this,” Harry says, open and earnest, “I wanna do everything with you.”

He leans forward, pressing one more kiss to Draco’s mouth, before starting to sink down. The head of Draco’s cock pops inside, and Harry’s body burns at the feeling. Its a pulsing ache, just this side of painful, and it makes everything tilt out of focus for a second. He has to take a moment to steady himself, biting hard at his bottom lip. He can hear Draco’s breathing hitch and stutter, and Harry looks down to find him clenching the sheets in his hands so hard his knuckles are turning white, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back on the pillows.

“Okay?” Harry asks, the word barely audible over their harsh breathing.

Draco’s eyes snap open and he nods, fast and jerky. “I’m good, so good. Keep going.”

It feels like he’s utilizing every muscle in his body to keep himself balanced as he slowly sinks down another inch. His thighs shake with the effort, hands trembling where he has them pressed against Draco’s chest. He curls his fingers, his nails biting into skin and eliciting a whimper from Draco’s panting mouth.

Another inch, and it’s starting to feel good now. Every inch deeper makes sparks shoot through his body, every sound of pleasure from Draco’s lips send waves of satisfaction down his spine. Harry slowly lifts back up, and then in one smooth motion, slides back down—all the way down, until their bodies are flush against one another.

Draco makes a sound like all the air has just been punched out of his lungs. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck.” He’s still clawing desperately at the sheets, so Harry leans forward to grab his hands and tangle their fingers together.

“Holy – fuck, Draco, _that_ —” Harry gasps out, when the movement causes Draco’s cock to brush against his prostate and send electric shocks across his skin.

“There?” Draco asks, thrusting up, slow and deep.

Harry presses Draco’s wrists into the mattress, catches that full bottom lip between his teeth, and bites down. “Yes, _there_.”

Harry moves, rocking his hips back and forth, again and again and again. Draco moves with him, brings his knees up to get more leverage. It doesn’t take long to establish a rhythm, for Harry to start fucking himself on Draco’s cock in earnest. Lifting up and dropping back down, over and over, until his legs begin to burn and his arms shake from holding himself up.

Everything is Draco. Around him and inside him, completely overtaking him. 

Draco’s hands twitch beneath Harry’s grip, his eyes flitting from Harry’s face to his cock—dripping and smacking against his stomach. “Go on,” Harry gasps, freeing Draco’s hands, “Touch – ah fuck – touch me, Draco.”

One hand grabs his thigh, holding tight, and the other wraps around Harry’s cock, those elegant fingers quickly collecting the precome and using it to ease the glide. Harry’s vision whites out for a second, overwhelmed by the dual sensations of Draco’s hand stroking him and Draco’s cock hitting his prostate with perfect accuracy. 

Draco’s hand tightens, twists on the upstroke, and Harry bucks into it. He’s so, so close, can feel it building, taking him impossibly higher. And then—

“Harry.” 

His eyes refocus and zero in on Draco, head tipped back and neck bared in invitation. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry whimpers, moving to wrap his hand around Draco’s throat.

He squeezes, watches Draco’s eyes flutter, hears his breath choke off—and that’s it. Harry comes, his cock pulsing and covering Draco’s stomach and chest in ropes of white. His hand shifts, sliding down and through the mess, smearing it into Draco’s skin, marking him. 

Then Harry lifts his fingers, rubs them across Draco’s lips, whispers, “You’re mine.”

Draco makes a strangled noise and comes, and Harry feels it, feels Draco’s cock pulse, feels the hot splash inside him. He tries to commit every single sensation to memory. The heat, the slickness, the punched out noises Draco makes and the perfect curve of his back as he arches up off the bed. 

Finally, Harry collapses down onto Draco and rests their foreheads together. “I love you,” Harry says simply, though the words seem inadequate. The way he feels about Draco is so much _more_.

“I love you too, Harry.”

Harry’s not sure how long they stay like that, just touching and kissing. Draco’s skin is warm, his lips smiling and eyes soft, and Harry thinks-- _This is what happiness feels like._

. . .

“We’re a mess,” Draco says, wincing as he slips out of Harry.

“Shower and then breakfast?” Harry suggests, pressing a kiss to Draco’s chest.

“I want a bath,” Draco answers, stretching and looking at Harry with a grin, “Not sure if I can stay vertical long enough for a shower.”

Harry laughs. “Okay, bath it is.”

Harry rolls off Draco and stands, his legs unsteady as he makes his way to the bathroom. There’s a pleasant ache in his arse, and his body feels sore and well-used in an unfamiliar way. But it’s good.

When he sinks into the hot water, Harry lets out a content sigh. Draco climbs in, sitting in front of Harry and leaning back against his chest. Harry brings his arms up and wraps them around Draco, nuzzling his face into soft blonde hair.

“So,” Harry says, after they’ve soaked in silence for a while. He knows they need to talk, but he’s not sure where to start.

Draco clears his throat. “So.”

It’s quiet for a moment, then they both start laughing.

“So…I’m an idiot and I’m sorry,” Draco finally says, the smile clear in his voice. He lifts Harry’s hand and presses a kiss to his palm, “Now you say, I know Malfoy. I forgive you.”

Draco’s impression of Harry is terrible and has them both laughing again. They calm down after a few minutes, and Harry grabs the shower gel from the shelf and rubs soapy hands over Draco’s back. He moves around to Draco’s chest, then down both arms to link their fingers together.

“I really do forgive you, and I’m sorry too,” Harry says, serious now. Draco makes a small noise, but Harry squeezes his fingers and continues, “I should have told you how I felt…should’ve told you a long time ago. I’m not the best at communicating sometimes.” Harry swallows, desperately wishing he was better at this. “Not that that’s an excuse, but just. You should know, if we’re gonna do this then you should know, because I’ll probably fuck up again and--”

Draco turns and cuts him off with a kiss. “We _are_ doing this. I’m in, one hundred percent.” Draco takes a deep breath and sits up a little straighter. “But I’m not like you, Harry. You face everything head on, and I run at the first sign of trouble. I will push you away, shut you out. I can be a lot, I know that, and I understand if you—”

Draco scowls at him and licks the hand Harry firmly presses over his mouth. “Brat,” Harry mutters fondly. He looks into those clear blue-grey eyes, the smallest hint of uncertainty hidden there. “You could never be too much for me, Draco. I love you, every irritating bit of you, and I’m here, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Draco’s smile is enough to light up Harry’s entire world. “How’s forever sound?”

Harry eyes are wet and his throat is clogged with emotion, but he manages to nod and choke out, “God, I fucking love you.”

“I love you, too.” Draco laughs a little wetly. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me, for believing I was worth it.”

And Harry didn’t think he could possibly love Draco anymore than he already did. But in that moment, his feelings expand into something even bigger, and Harry thinks that maybe loving Draco has no limits. That maybe he’ll never be able to measure it or contain it. 

Maybe, it’s infinite.

. . .

Harry turns around with two plates piled high, but Draco’s not at the table. He was there, just a minute ago. “Draco?”

“When did this happen?” Draco demands, walking back into the kitchen and waving a small stack of papers at him.

Harry freezes.

“Well, Potter?”

Harry sets the plates down so he has a hand free to run through his hair. “A couple days ago.” Draco raises an eyebrow. “I’ve maybe been sneaking into the Harpies stadium to fly and--”

“Breaking and entering,” Draco interrupts with a gasp of fake surprise, one hand clutching his chest, “And to think, they were going to let you become an Auror.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” he says with a grin, “Anyways, a scout for the Kestrels happened to be there one day and he offered me a try-out.”

“So, Ireland.”

“I haven’t signed. I mean, it would be amazing, but the training schedule is brutal. I’d probably have to move and…” Harry trails off with a shrug.

“I think you should do it,” Draco says, shuffling the papers nervously, “We could get a flat together.”

Harry stares. “You would come with me?”

Draco shrugs. “No one in England wants to hire an ex-death eater.” He looks up at Harry and smiles. “Maybe I’ll have better luck somewhere else.”

“Somewhere like Ireland?” Harry asks, because he wants to make sure he understands what Draco’s saying, “You want to move to Ireland with me? You’re serious?”

“Harry.” Draco kisses him, whispers the words against his lips, “I’d follow you anywhere.”

. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I'm super nervous about bottom!harry. I agonized over having them switch, but ultimately decided to say fuck it and hope for the best.
> 
> Anyways, that's it...at least for now. I do plan to continue this series at some point, so I hope everyone sticks around to see where this story goes next <3


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